The World We Knew
by Martin Mahboi
Summary: "Basically, Doc, I'm a caravan master. I've got a nice lil' business here in the Hub. Haroldavan's. You've heard of that, yeah?" "I have, yes. I assume you are attempting to offer me a job?" "...I am, yeah. We need a new doctor. The the last one got killed by these, uh.. big, green mutants. We—" "Mutants, you say?"
1. The Proposition

hey! i've been working on this for about a month, with a couple chapters pre-written (but not really done in order). the master is my favorite fallout character, and it's such a shame that he has like.. no content, because he's written so well and so is harold. they both deserved better and bethesda did harold dirty in fo3. in the version of this on AO3, which you can find ON MY PROFILE (link will be there) i included drawings i made of what harold and richard look like, so you have an idea of what to imagine. in this story, richard is 46/47 when he meets harold, and harold is ehh.. 38-ish when they meet. they travel for 3 years and _THEN_ find mariposa. so, this story spans 2102, when they met, and ends in 2105, at mariposa!

okay anyway gamers let's go lmao. this intro is kind of short but don't worry, other chapters i've made have 3k+ ALSO richard talks very formal and technical and CLINICAL so apparently google thinks i'm plagiarizing? whenever i write pieces of his dialogue but.. I'm Not.. this is all me, baby! also, i've got a blog if any of you are interested! i'm posting this right now because i'm pretty tired of looking over the same chapters over and over... :(. i don't have a beta reader so if there's any errors please let me know!

it's been _three_ years since i've written fanfiction (writer's block), and i'm very anxious to see what everyone thinks of this!

* * *

The lead from a couple days ago doesn't seem to have gotten Harold that far. It's been hours since his caravan returned to the Hub after their previous doctor, Alex, died a week or so ago in a mutant attack. Harold's been looking for a replacement since then.

He'd overheard whispers from a pair of wastelanders about a doctor who arrived in the Hub while he was away. They were gossiping near one of the little trading intersections, talking about some sort of.. overcomplicated medical procedure that Harold honestly doesn't remember _or_ understand.

 _However_ , Harold recalls thinking, _apparently, he's already made a hell of a name for himself._

Harold glances around the small town, taking a moment to catch him breath. His eyes lock onto his next lead, the makeshift hospital in the Hub, and he speedwalks over. His finger touches the rusty, metal door, and it slowly creaks open. "Uh.. Is there a doctor here?" Harold asks, awkwardly looking around.

No response. _Nobody's even in the building,_ he realizes with a frown.

"Shit," He sighs, running a fingerless-gloved hand through his hair.

 _Maybe I should go ask one of the guards? Oh, why the hell didn't I just do that right off the bat?_ Harold thinks, shaking his head _._

Harold jogs south, looking for one of the patrols. He sees two standing side-by-side, guarding a doorway.

"Hey!" Harold shouts, waving one of the guards over. "I was wonderin' if you could help me find, uh.. the new doc in town? I checked his place, but nobody was home."

"Yeah, heh. I don't think he ever sleeps, cause I see him prowlin' around almost every night. His name's Richard Grey. One hell of a doc, y'know? Even if he is, uh.. weird.." She awkwardly trails off, yawning.

Harold raises a brow in confusion. "Weird? What d'ya mean by that?" he pauses, remembering her name, "Wight?"

She gives him a tired smile.

"He might be in the Maltese Falcon; I saw him walking that way two hours or so ago. ..You remember the way, right? A couple things changed here while you were gone." The tired guard replies, crossing her arms.

Harold gets the message, and doesn't pry any further. "Heh, I think so. If I don't find him there, you think you could look with me?"

"Sure, if I have the time."

"Thanks."

* * *

The first thing Harold notices as he opens the weathered wood door to the Falcon is the new layout of the bar.

He scans the room and spies a lone figure, dressed in a lab coat, slouching over the counter of the bar. _Grey?_ He certainly looks like a doctor.

As Harold walks closer, he makes a few more observations: the man's wearing black, rectangle glasses. His short, black hair is graying at the sides in stripes of silver and white. He's eating a bowl of noodles, furiously scribbling on a piece of paper in-between bites.

 _Well, he definitely looks like a stereotypical doctor,_ Harold thinks with a soft chuckle, reaching the counter.

He pulls the stool next to the older man out and plops down with a silent sigh, stealing a glance at the bowl of noodles the he's eating. It smells like.. _Brahim broth and chunks of coyote meat with some maize, carrots, and potatoes, huh? Good choice._

The young barkeeper approaches but Harold raises a hand before she can speak, "I'll have what he's havin'," he says, pointing to his left. She nods, and places two glasses of water in front of them before focusing her attention to the stove.

In the corner of his vision, Harold sees the mysterious man stiffen, quickly pivoting his head to the right.

"And who might you be, hm?"

 _Well,_ Harold thinks as he blinks in surprise, _I wasn't expecting his voice to be that deep._

There's an uncomfortable silence as the man stares expectantly at him with piercing green eyes. Harold squeezes his _own_ hazel eyes shut for a brief moment to recollect his thoughts.

"Oh, uh.. My name's Harold," Harold watches as the stranger's dark eyes narrow to slits, "uh.. Are you Doctor Grey..?" He mumbles apprehensively.

"Why, yes, Harold.. I am. I wonder, what brings you here? It's rather late." Grey quickly examines the rest of Harold, who scrambles to form a coherent sentence under such a cold, calculating gaze.

"Well, Doc, I wanted to talk to you—"

He's interrupted with a sigh as Grey finally blinks, breaking his gaze from Harold. He leans back, tilting his head down just a bit, and emotionlessly says, "I believe I made it clear multiple times that I do not accept nighttime appointments, unless it is an emergency."

The new angle provides Harold a clearer look at Grey's face, now illuminated by the lantern's warm light at the far end of the counter.

Grey looks to be in his mid-to-late forties, his wrinkled face worsened no doubt by stress, heat, and god knows what else. Ashy, nearly colorless skin pulled tight over higher-than-average cheekbones gives him a sickly appearance, although Harold knows better than that. His nose is long and a tad narrow, while his thin lips are a muted gray. The wrinkles on his forehead crease.

"Harold?"

Harold's eyes focus on two distinct scars marring Grey's face. They're long and thin, obviously left behind by a deep laceration caused by a claw or some sort of sharp object. One runs diagonally up the left half of his upper lip, past the nostril, stopping a few centimeters below his left eyelid. The second is shorter, and it begins very close to the middle of his lower left eyelid, creating a diagonal path across the cheekbone and ending halfway down the side of his face.

"Excuse me, Harold? Perhaps you're in need of an emergency hearing exam. Have you been exposed to sounds louder than, hm, eighty-five decibels for an extended period of time without adequate protection?" Grey asks clinically, his voice softening.

He gently reaches out, placing a cold, slender, spidery hand on the weathered brown material that covers Harold's shoulder. The sleeve of his lab coat pulls back just enough for Harold to see a scar sneaking down Grey's forearm, interrupting the pattern of the hair growth.

The sudden change in the doctor's demeanor and the physical contact jolts Harold back to reality. "What?" he squeaks, "no! No, nah. Heh.. I'm, uh.. I'm okay. I don't need an appointment."

"Oh.. I apologize for interrupting you, Harold," Grey says, removing his hand from Harold's shoulder. The softness and slight concern in his demeanor dissolve as he reverts back to his icy, sinister self.

"What is it you wish to discuss, then?" He asks, and adjusts his black tie, tugging afterwards on the collar of his dark green, long-sleeved shirt peeking out from underneath his buttoned lab coat.

Harold blinks, shrugs, and opens his mouth to speak.

"I wanted to ask you how much experience you've got with traveling."

"Hm? What an odd question," Grey quips, taking a quick swig from his glass of water. "Why would you interrupt your body's natural sleep cycle to ask me such a peculiar— _no_ —" he pauses, rethinking his choice of words, "such an asinine question?"

"It couldn't wait, Doc. A member of—"

The barkeeper interrupts Harold with a sheepish expression, placing a bowl of noodles just like Grey's in front of him. "I'm sorry, Harold. We don't usually get people eating actual meals at three in the morning, so I might've got the order wrong." She checks her watch just to be sure of the time, and Harold chuckles.

"It's alright, Abigail. I haven't had anythin' to eat for almost two days. I'll live, even if you forgot to add maize, or accidentally put cabbage in."

She grins and returns to washing the dishes, leaving the two men alone.

"Okay, uh.. Hopefully I won't get interrupted again." Harold sighs while Grey's lips twitch into a twisted imitation of a smirk.

"So, basically, I'm a caravan master. I've got a nice lil' business here in the Hub. Haroldavan's. Have you heard of it?" Harold pauses, waiting for a response.

Grey nods, taking advantage of the silence to have a few more bites of soup, finishing his bowl.

"Okay, good. Well, the doc that traveled with us got killed in some sorta attack, by these big, uh.. green mutants." Harold watches as Grey's eyes twinkle with interest. The doctor swivels the bar stool to the right to face Harold, pushing his empty bowl and papers aside with a sweep of his arm.

Harold licks his lips nervously as he realizes he has the doctor's full attention. "We came into town two hours ago, or somethin' like that. But we need a new doc, and well.. You've only been the Hub's doc for what, two years? Ya wouldn't really miss this dump. You must've been travelin' around, yeah?"

"That is correct, Harold. I assume you are going to ask me to be your caravan's new doctor?" Grey inquires with a slightly raised brow, his eyes boring into Harold's.

"It is, yeah. We'd have to leave in about two days, though. Are you up for that, Doc? We don't really have anyone else with your level of skill." Harold says, voice hopeful. Abigail silently walks by, picking up the doctor's empty bowl, and Harold looks at Grey with pleading eyes.

"Perhaps," Grey says absently, "it depends on what I shall gain from our partnership."

"Anything." Harold utters without thinking, and Grey practically _purrs,_ eyes widening.

 _"Anything,_ hm? Lovely."

He continues in a darker tone, his voice slithering its way into Harold's ears. "I want _all_ scientific and medical findings, including data, that we come across during our collaboration. I also wish to investigate these mutants, Harold. I require a _live_ specimen."

 _Damn, everythin' hi-tech? Along with meds? What, does he want all the damn energy weapons we find, too? And a live specimen? Jesus, Wight was right. This guy really is weird,_ Harold thinks, glancing at the floor, _but.. There's nobody else in the wasteland we can find in two days that's got the amount of experience he has as a doctor._

"Well? Are _you_ willing to join forces with _me_ , Harold? I am eager to hear your response. _"_ Grey holds a hand out— _when the hell did he get out of his seat?_ —towering over him.

Harold meets his gaze and sighs as he limply shakes the older man's hand. "I guess so, Doc. I just hope you're worth the hassle."

Grey offers him a shark-like grin. "I look forward to working alongside you, Harold."

"Uh.. me too, Doc.." Harold nearly squeaks, staring at Grey's forehead, "me too."

Grey pays for both of their meals.

* * *

i really hope you readers enjoy what you've seen so far! if you do, please leave a review! it's highly appreciated! i've even allowed for anonymous reviews, in case you don't have an account/don't want to log in!


	2. Departure

hey guys! a lot happened in my life inbetween the publishing of the first chapter and today! unfortunately, my 17 year old cousin died a few days after a car crash about a week or so after i published the first chapter, and then the shooting at the pittsburgh synagogue was very, very close to where i live. it was a really rough time and i lost my muse :(

the good news though is that i started HRT (hormone replacement therapy, it's testosterone) on october 30th and i'm officially 2 months on T now!

merry christmas u guys. also a fan of this story contacted me and they've drawn some poppin fanart of richard and harold. i can't add images on fanfiction Dot net, so it'll be on ao3! this update is a bit rushed, as i really wanted to get this chapter out today, so there might be some errors or little pieces missing... i'm working on chapter 3, and hopefully it'll be published in january or early february!

also, i think it's a good idea to mention that richard is fucking 6'5 (he's also trans like harold is) and has a very weak immune system, which means his body heals very, very bad. so he's got bruises from months ago and his scars are still healing in some spots! and all that shit

* * *

It's still dark out when Harold visits the doctor at the clinic.

"Hey, we're leavin' soon," he announces, closing the door behind him, "you got everythin', Doc?"

"Almost," Richard says, facing away from him, "I require some more items, along with my—Ah, there it is!"

"What is that thing?" Harold asks, squinting.

"It's an ophthalmoscope," Richard says as he turns, holding up the device for Harold to see.

"A what?" Harold doesn't even try to pronounce the word, brows furrowing.

Richard sighs.

"It's used to examine the eyes," he simplifies, turning the light on and directing it towards Harold. It flashes brightly, blinding him for a moment, and Richard hums, "your eyes are fine. Excellent."

"Sheesh, warn me next time, Doc," Harold says, rubbing his eyes.

Richard ignores him, gently tucking the ophthalmoscope into one of his lab coat's side pockets.

"Have you, by any chance, a shipment of sterile medical supplies?" he asks, fetching a black knapsack on a nearby table.

"Uh.." Harold confesses, vision beginning to clear, "maybe. I'll have to check. The second I came back I dropped my stuff and started lookin' for you."

Grey arches a brow, zipping open the leather bag. He neatly packs it with scraps of (surprisingly clean) white, black, and dark green cloth. He gathers spools of thread and a sewing needle from underneath his bed, adding them into the mix.

"What's that for, Doc?" Harold asks, standing a few feet away from him.

"I prefer my clothing to be.. intact," he answers, stuffing a few more small trinkets into the bag. He zips it closed in one sweep, and turns, saying, "I suggest you check, then."

Harold leans forward, squinting at the doctor in confusion.

"Huh? For what?"

Richard deeply exhales through his nose, the slightest bit of annoyance seeping into his voice.

"The medical supplies we discussed no less than a minute ago," he explains, eyes cold.

"Oh!" Harold exclaims, face lighting up, "yeah, yeah! Sorry 'bout that, Doc. Got a lot on my mind, y'know?" He taps his temple with a sheepish smile.

"I see," Richard responds. "Nonetheless, my statement still stands. I have business I must attend to as well. It shall be brief."

"Okay, Doc," Harold nods, moving aside to allow the doctor passage, "do you wanna meet here, the Falcon, or with the rest of the caravan? And, uh," Harold stretches his arm out, "are you hungr—"

"The caravan," the doctor declares, leaving without another word.

Harold stands in the center of Grey's house dumbly, curling the hand he'd reached out inward, allowing it to drop to his side. His wrist flops back and forth from the momentum as he sighs.

"Oh, uh.. alright.."

* * *

"Hey, J, did we get a shipment of med stuff?" Harold pushes the metal door aside as he steps into Haroldavan's

"Oh, yeah! We did, actually," Jake laughs, watching him from the front desk, "it's in the back, near all the spare parts."

Harold smiles awkwardly, saying, "heh, thanks. I'll see you around, Jake. Don't forget to tell the kids I said hey."

"Oh, I won't forget, haha. You need any help?"

"Nah, I got this."

Jake nods, tossing Harold the key.

Harold walks behind the counter, grasping the brass doorknob. It opens with little effort, and he spots the silhouettes of a few crates inside. It's too dark for him to tell what they are, even as he approaches.

"Alright, then," he says, shoving a hand in his pocket. He activates his Pip-Boy light and squats down, reading the labels out loud.

"Syringes, saline solution, some gauze. uh.." he struggles to pronounce the next word correctly, "..anti.. septic? Some other medical shit. Not even gonna try to pronounce that. Great."

He tests the boxes weights by trying to move them, and is surprised at how light they are.

"Huh," he mumbles, stacking them together, "weird."

Harold bends down and slowly picks the uneven pillar of boxes up, holding it against his chest. He swallows nervously and turns around, gingerly exiting the storage room from the unloading exit, handing them to one of his employees to load.

* * *

"Who the hell are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, who the hell are you?"

"Are you dense, boy?"

"Who the _fuck_ are you, geezer? Why the fuck are you touchin' our shit?"

Richard examines the young man for a moment, uncomfortably green eyes narrowing. The boy has dirt smeared all over his sun-burnt face and a pair of old, grimy goggles looped around his neck. He blows upwards in defiance, causing his long brown bangs to flutter aside.

Richard fishes the ophthalmoscope from his breast pocket and shakes it in his hand, sneering.

"Let me examine your eyes, child, for it seems you are visually impaired in some way."

"What the hell, you creep!"

"I am a _doctor_ , you imbecile!" Richard sighs, "are you unable to see my coat? Harold has offered me employment!"

"Wait, are _you_ that Grey guy everyone calls the best doctor in the west? What?!"

"Is that what I'm known as? How interesting," Richard scoffs, facing away from him as he tucks the ophthalmoscope back into his pocket.

"You haven't—"

"Leave me be," Richard utters, firmly raising his arm and straightening the back of his hand for him to see.

"Wait! Look, uh.. I, uh.." the young man blinks, taking a half-step back, "I know we got off on the wrong foot, but—"

Richard peers over his shoulder, staring right through the boy, who shuts up.

"Hey, what's goin' on here? Mark, who are you buggin' now?"

A dark-skinned, red-haired woman of about thirty six steps into view, hands on her hips. Her hair, unlike the boy's, is clean and cut comfortably short. She adjusts the thin, wire-frame reading glasses on her nose and narrows her eyes.

"Francine!" the boy named Mark cries out, hurrying to her side, "thank fuck you're here!"

"Whoa, whoa!" Francine chides, "you're not gettin' off that easy—" Mark deflates "—now, why are you botherin' this doctor?"

"'Cause he was touchin' our stuff!" Mark whines, voice cracking as he gestures behind himself to the strange man.

Richard stands still, abnormally long fingers steepled together, watching both of them with an indecipherable expression on his face.

"I am merely preparing for our journey," he says. His mouth barely moves.

Francine takes her glasses off, folding them inwards and hooking them onto the collar of her shirt.

"You're our new doctor, then?" she asks, walking towards Richard with an open arm, "I'm Francine. It's nice to meet you."

Richard's eyes flicker down to her open palm.

"Yes, I am the caravan's new doctor," he confirms, shifting in place, "I would return the sentiment, but this situation has not been entirely pleasant."

Francine doesn't seem too bothered by his reluctance to shake her hand and lowers her arm.

Mark shrinks under Grey's gaze, laughing nervously.

"Haha, well.. let's just leave that all in the dust, right?" He says, grinning awkwardly.

Francine frowns, moving to face Mark, who begins twiddling his thumbs.

"Mark," she replies, "next time, find me. Think before you act, okay?"

Mark nods, unable to look her in the eye.

Grey clears his throat.

"Where is Harold? It has been quite some time."

"Harold? Oh, uh," Francine purses her lips, "you know, you're right. He never takes this long."

"Oh, shit," Mark mutters under his breath, looking away in exasperation.

"Uh.. Doc, any idea where he might be?"

"I believe he is checking to see if there are any shipments of medical supplies," Richard states monotonously.

"He definitely should've been back by now. Hm..." Francine inclines her head, "I think someone should look for him."

"I will," Mark hastily volunteers, fidgeting.

"Oh, okay. You go find him, then, Mark," Francine shrugs, surprised at the boy's eagerness.

Mark runs off, feeling the doctor's eyes burn a hole into his back.

* * *

"Harold?"

"Huh? Mark? What are you doin' here? I thought you were gonna meet me at the caravan with the others."

Mark glances back nervously for a moment even though the doctor is on the other side of town. "Who the hell is that old _creep_ in the white coat?" he whispers, voice wavering.

Harold stops what he's doing.

"You mean Doc Grey?"

"That's his name?"

"Yeah, Doctor Richard Grey." Harold confirms.

"Christ, that really _is_ him then, huh? He's the doc we're goin' with?" Mark stumbles over his words.

"Uh, yeah.. is there some kind of problem?" Harold asks, gently and slightly cocking his head to the side.

"The guy's a hack! There's somethin' off about him, boss!"

"C'mon, Mark, give him a chance. Walk with me." Harold says, gently patting the boy's back as he passes by.

"Give him a _chance?_ You're crazy!" Mark whines, following him like a lost puppy.

"Mark, he's not really that bad."

The boy quiets for a minute before coming up with a response.

"..Says _you,"_ he shouts awkwardly, "you didn't see how he was treatin' me!"

Harold whirls around to face the boy behind him.

"What d'ya mean?"

Mark stops walking.

"He was.. he, uh.. he was harassin' me!"

"Was he now? Or were you buggin' him?"

"Well, uh.. Well, he's.. Uh.." Mark looks away.

"That's what I thought, kid," Harold says with a knowing smirk, "c'mon, we're almost there."

* * *

As Harold and Mark emerge from the town, Francine rushes to meet them.

"There you are!" she sighs, "I got worried somethin' happened to you, you know!"

"Oh shit… I'm sorry about that. I, uh… got a little caught up in somethin'. But we're good to go now." Harold says meekly, brushing his hair behind his ears.

Richard appears behind Francine, silently tapping his fingers together.

"Hey, Doc," Harold says, "we're gonna make a sweep around the surrounding areas and out to the Boneyard. We'll see what we should do from there, yeah?"

"The Boneyard?" Francine asks, crossing her arms, "that might be a bit too far for the doc's first run, don't you think?"

Harold tilts his head up to look at Richard quizzically.

"You think you'll be able to handle it? I know I should've asked you before, but you didn't take as much convincing as I thought."

Richard's brows twitch ever so slightly in confusion as he speaks.

"You need not worry about me. I would not have accepted your offer if I was unfit to carry it through."

Harold glances at Francine, who shrugs silently.

"C'mon you guys, let's get fuckin' going. The rest of us don't wanna wait for the rest of our shitty lives." Mark complains, pointing to the other members of the caravan as they watch the group awkwardly.

Harold sighs, walking away from the doctor and Francine to address the caravan.

"Alright, alright," he shouts, "you know where we're gonna go, but I'll go over it again just in case: we're going to explore a bit and check the nearby settlements, and once we're done it's off to the Boneyard. Now, does anyone have questions?"

Mark raises his hand with a shit-eating grin.

Harold sighs, knowing what the boy wants to say.

"Nobody has questions, then? Great!" Harold says, trying not to laugh at the indignant pout that appears on Mark's face.

He turns to the doctor who eyes him curiously.

"Let's get going, then."

* * *

probably one of the worst chapters this story will have, as i wrote this when shit hit the fan. but i hope it's enough for right now!


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